Waves Like Breath
The sun carries gold to us over dunes,
buoyant with grasses,while the wave approaches,
water at our feet breaking apart.
We sense how the wave is like us, how we were well-traveled
and altered by the traveling; coral tunnels, empty sockets of the dead,
ships, seaweed moving without effort, too many,
too many fresh starts only to fall in again.
How desperate we were once to simulate the sea,
disappointed from our headlong dive into the shallows,
the invention of storm. And then, the storm is passed.
How the morning (coming in the window, the calm of bed sheets
in a pool on the floor white as waves leaving their ribbon trail,
a sky reflection, tidal pools swelling and emptying,
steadying) runs cursive over skin that’s found its home.
How quiet it isto actually love: horizon line, waves like breath.